


fire and the flood

by milkshakesandmurders



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty takes charge, Exploration, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jughead happily complies, Just a couple of pining horny teens, that’s it that’s the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 18:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkshakesandmurders/pseuds/milkshakesandmurders
Summary: Betty Cooper wanted everyone in this damn town to know that Jughead Jones was hers.These marks were from her, and her only.OR...Betty and Jughead partake in ‘Netflix and chill’.





	fire and the flood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BettySnooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettySnooper/gifts).



> For the ever wonderful and even more supportive, ShibbyCat. Thank you for helping me out of my writing slump.  
> I hope you enjoy. x
> 
> (also huge shoutout to both bugggghead for being an amazing beta and making my garbage look good. and theheavycrown for being my constant cheerleader.)

_ You’re the fire and the flood _ __  
_ And I’ll always feel you in my blood _ __  
_ Everything is fine _ __  
_ When your hand is resting next to mine _ __  
_ Next to mine _ _  
_ __ You’re the fire and the flood

 

_ - _

  
  


Betty had thought about this moment. Behind locked doors and closed curtains. Underneath the safety and comfort of her perfectly pink blankets, within the four walls of her safe space. 

 

She had thought about _this_ _very_ moment.

 

Her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck, his own fingers curled around her hips, holding her steady—anchoring her to him. 

 

The beanie he always wore—discarded, long forgotten. 

 

She could feel a sound brewing and bubbling deep in her chest, threatening to make its way up her throat and pass through her swollen lips. She knew exactly what the sound was. It was a sound that she had heard in clips she had found in the depths of the World Wide Web. It was a sound she had thought about when she read those tacky romance novels.

 

It was a sound that  _ he _ was now fully responsible for.

 

Betty could hear the hum and murmurs of the movie they had been watching in the background—but, whatever was happening on the screen now didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter in her mind was the feeling of him, underneath her, and the heat she could feel radiating from him, and the noticeable heat of her own—and the knowing that there were only a few layers between them. 

 

She gripped a handful of his hair and pulled, angling his head, exposing his neck.

 

Licking her bottom lip, feeling possessed, Betty lowered her head and her lips met his skin. She inhaled his scent; a pleasant mixture of musky cologne, tinged with sweat, and a hint of pizza. 

 

Betty grinned against him. Peppering his neck with soft, affectionate kisses for a few moments, she decided she’d had enough of playing sweet. Her tongue ran along her teeth, and she gripped his hair a little harder—the hiss he let out only encouraged her in her endeavor. Slowly, her mouth worked his pulse point—not caring about the marks being left behind. 

 

Betty Cooper wanted  _ everyone _ in this damn town to know that Jughead Jones was  _ hers _ . 

 

These marks were from  _ her _ , and her  _ only _ .

 

Feeling him groan at the change in pressure, she continued her assault as she moved her core against him - pressing down, pressing hard.

 

“Betts…”

 

She felt one of his hands move from her hip, up and into her hair—she was grateful for going against the usual ponytail. Leaving her hair out allowed him to run his fingers through the strands, and pull, if need be.

 

Betty let out a soft, controlled moan when she felt his fingers scrap dangerously close to her scalp. The sting had her feeling tingles between her legs, and the urge to move against him overwhelmed all of her senses. 

 

She needed to ground herself. She needed friction. 

 

She needed _ more _ .

 

There was suddenly an impossible amount of layers between them.

 

Pushing her knees into the back of the couch in an attempt to steady herself, Betty pulled away.

 

“Jug,” she purred.

 

His eyes were dark, hooded and filled with lust. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair was a mess from her hands. Betty reached for his suspenders and pulled them off his shoulders and down his arms.

 

Toying with the buttons of his shirt, her eyes darted to meet his. Without breaking eye contact, she slowly undid the buttons, one-by-one. Inch by inch, she exposed the skin underneath. Once she had reached the button that was nestled inside his pants, the throbbing ache from her core had her jaw clenching and her panties soaked. 

 

“Can I?” she asked, her own voice gravelly—unrecognizable.

 

Jughead nodded, slowly removing his hands from her hips and her hair. She felt him relax below her and Betty continued to pull the shirt out from the confines of his pants to finish what she had started.

 

She gnawed at her bottom lip as she pushed his shirt off, exposing more of his skin—noting the goosebumps evident across every inch. He slowly removed his arms from the sleeves and leaned forward to allow her to grab a fistful of shirt and throw it—with little to no regard—behind her.

 

Running her hands down his chest, his stomach, and resting on the waist of his pants, Jughead let out a slightly strangled sigh. Betty grinned as she watched his head fall back. As her hands made their way back up his stomach, chest, finally coming to rest on his shoulders, his head inched back up and once again, his hands found firm purchase on her hips.

 

“You’re going to be the death of me, Betty Cooper.”

 

The want edging his voice, the desire flickering in his eyes, and the firm grip his hands had on her hips—encouraging her to seek the friction she so desperately wanted—had her squeezing her eyes closed, letting out her own strangled gasp.

 

She felt him launch himself forward—his hands gripping her face, her fingers tangling in his hair, his lips hot and feverishly as they moved against hers. 

 

The kiss was messy - teeth clashing and the sounds leaving one mouth quickly swallowed by the other. But, none of it mattered. Not a single thing. It was just them.

 

Betty’s hands shifted, finding purchase on his shoulders as his tongue sought entry to explore her warm and waiting mouth. Just as his tongue eagerly swiped against her own, the lower half of her body started moving back and forth, finding the exact spot where his hardened length ground against her clit. 

 

Jughead groaned into her mouth, his hands making their way back to her hips, encouraging her to continue. He toyed with the edge of her shirt. Reluctantly pulling away, their eyes met but no words needed to be shared—Betty simply nodded. Her arms moved up, and after a few stumbling seconds, and some slightly embarrassing giggles—Betty’s shirt wound up somewhere on the floor behind them. 

 

Her entire body felt like it was on fire. His eyes were drinking her in, rapidly moving up and down her body. Betty reached for one of his hands and guided it to her chest.

 

“Touch me,” she whimpered.

 

She watched his eyes widen as his hand landed on her breast, toying with the edge of her bra. It was nothing fancy—even though she felt like she should’ve been embarrassed about her chosen underwear for the evening; she didn’t. Her heart was racing, her core was aching, and her breaths came out in short spurts.

 

Jughead looked up at her, looking both nervous and confident at the same time. How he did it, she didn’t know. Regardless, she felt like a puddle in his lap.

 

That feeling was only emphasized when his thumbs lazily rubbed over her nipples—hidden under the thin material of her bra. Betty jumped at the new sensation, her head falling back as she found herself grinding down on his hardened cock—faster, almost feral.

 

Her brain felt like it may very well short circuit in an embarrassing amount of time. Everything just felt  _ so  _ right. She wanted to let go—completely. 

 

Betty straightened up, reaching around. With shaking fingers, she chewed her lip and watched him. After a couple of seconds of fumbling—she pulled her bra straps down and threw it behind her. She let out an unrecognizable sound as Jughead launched himself forward and his mouth was suddenly on one breast—licking, nibbling, kissing. Betty wound her fingers in his hair, pushing him closer, guiding herself back and forth.

 

The feeling was there.

 

It was brewing in her toes.

 

Her mind was fuzzy.

 

She was whimpering variations of his name.

 

Dropping filthy words like a prayer.

 

Betty could hear him; he was urging her on.

 

He was close.

 

Her body was moving of its own accord. She was no longer in control of anything.

 

She was first.

 

Quickly followed by Jughead.

 

They were both breathing heavily. His head was buried in her chest. Her face was in his neck. His hands had a deathly bruise-inducing grip on her hips. Her fingers were in his hair.

 

Neither wanted to break whatever moment they’d found.

 

But he spoke first, slowly pulling away from her flushed and sweaty chest.

 

“Betty-“

 

She pulled back, a small, satisfied smile adorning her face. 

 

“We should probably clean up, huh?”

 

There was always been something about Jughead’s chuckle—but, tonight—the butterflies that were usually fluttering away quietly in her stomach were anything but quiet.

 

Before she climbed off his lip, Betty leaned forward, her lips landing on his—they moved together like it was the most natural thing in the world. He opened his mouth, and Betty grinned as her tongue swiped his. It was still passionate, but it was lazy—languid. 

 

It took a few moments, but she pulled away first.

 

“Definitely need to clean up,” she giggled.

 

“Hey, Betts,” she felt his hand grip her wrist before she climbed off, “you know I like you, right?”

 

With a quick brush of their lips again, she whispered, “It’s only taken us a few years, but yeah, I know.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad, Juggie.”

**Author's Note:**

> song by the one and only Vance Joy - fire and the flood.


End file.
